A Grey Area
by multipledigits
Summary: Set around "The Wall," an introspective Gabriel struggles with his past and tries to face his future as a reformed man. Gabriel/Peter and Gabriel/Claire.  Flashback- Sylar/Elle
1. Chapter 1

"Claire..." he murmured in his sleep, the word escaping his lips like a sigh. It was no longer a name, in the past eight years it had become his mantra. She was the only thing that had propelled him through his endless days. For the first three years of his imprisonment, he found her face in every watch that he fixed. Every watch in New York ticked before him, all in discord, and for the first time in his life he had the ability to fix them all. A few years previously, the watchmaker would have been positively elated to be given all the time in the world to correct erroneous timepieces, but now that he found nobody attached to their wristbands, it was somehow not satisfying in the least.

"Claire..." Again, her name, his mantra, slipped away on his breath. Peter laid his hand on Gabriel's arm and tried to shake the dream from his mind. Gabriel groggily came around, blinking, taking inventory of his surroundings. Only in his dreams had he been able to escape back into the real world, and every morning when he had awoken since he was trapped here, it took him quite a while to remember where he was.

"Are you having that dream again, Gabe?"

He was lying in bed beside Peter Petrelli. Peter Petrelli, the man whose brother he had killed, the man who had vowed to exact revenge upon him, was shaking him awake, calling him Gabe... Rubbing his eyes, Gabriel sat up and allowed reality to come rushing back to him. Eight years ago, he had gone to Matt Parkman and asked him to remove Sylar's abilities. Instead, Matt had ended up imprisoning Sylar within his own mind. Ever since, Sylar- and then eventually Gabriel, as he had come to think of himself once again, had been trapped in a realization of his personal idea of hell. He was stuck in New York City, completely and utterly alone. At first, Sylar did not even realize that what he was experiencing was simply a delusion. Matt had been complete- he had also erased Sylar's memory of the procedure he had used to create the nightmare. The last thing Gabriel remembered was going to Matt Parkman, begging him to do something, anything to relieve him of his powers. When Matt had refused, Sylar had threatened Matt's wife, Janice, and... that was all.

Sylar woke up in New York disoriented and completely confused. The only conclusion he had been able to come to was that everyone else had died. He could not figure out what had happened. Several of his theories included another special with an ability like Ted Sprague's radioactivity, or a deadly virus that nobody could survive. However, if there was a real exploding man, where was the property damage? If there was a virus, where were the bodies? Furthermore, anything that he would have been able to survive, Claire would have survived as well. After all, she was the source of his rapid cellular regeneration ability. It absolutely chafed at the edges of his mind to know there was something he was unable to figure out. After all, that was his original ability- figuring out how things worked.

Some three years later in this reality, yet apparently only three hours in the other reality, Peter had attempted to rescue him. He had borrowed Matt's power of telepathy, but once inside Sylar's mind, he himself was unable to escape. Either Sylar's mind or Matt's barrier was too strong, and Peter had become trapped as well. At first, Sylar had been sure that Peter was some sort of illusion. After three years alone, he was convinced that his mind had simply made up a copy of Peter in order to either ease the anguish of solitude or torture him with guilt. However, neither of those was the case. Peter came in insisting that Sylar was the only person who could save Peter's girlfriend, Emma, from being forced to draw thousands of people to slaughter. Sylar, of course, laughed. He was not a hero, he was not a savior, and he hadn't the slightest idea how he could become anything other than a mass murderer.

The thing he desired most in the world, other than Claire, was knowledge. Unfortunately, for many years the only way he knew to obtain new knowledge, or rather new powers, was to slaughter other evolved humans and inspect their brains. There was a hunger that burned within him that he was simply powerless to control. He certainly wished that he could live a normal life, and yes, even possibly become a hero like Peter Petrelli, the man who was standing before him, but he had no idea where to begin. His only idea had been to give up his powers completely, yet instead of Matt helping him to live the boring, average life he fantasized about, well, here he was. He supposed he deserved it. And that's where they had been for the past five years- searching for a way out of Sylar's solitary confinement.

Right. He snapped himself awake. Gabriel sat up and for the first time became fully aware of the other form next to him. Peter was lying next to him on the large bed, wearing a crumpled white under shirt and navy blue boxers. A look of concern was painted across his face, and his hand still rested on Gabriel's upper arm.

"Were you having that dream again?" Seeing that Gabriel was now considerably closer to consciousness, Peter repeated himself. Gabriel sheepishly nodded his head and grumbled a noise in the affirmative.

It was the same dream that he had practically every night. The scenario was sometimes different, but the theme was always the same. He was trying to reach Claire, but something was preventing him. In the past there had been insurmountable peaks between them, sometimes she was frozen in a tomb of ice, other times she would simply run from him endlessly and he would awake sweating and panting. This time, only a thin glass wall separated him from his beloved. She pounded on the barrier, in anguish from some unseen force. He was sure that she could not see him because her cries for help were directed at no body in particular, cast with the lilt of a hopeless victim crying not to alert someone to her capture, but only to assuage her own grief. The glass could have been shattered with a thought if only he still had his powers, yet all he could do was press himself against it and stare helplessly into Claire's tortured eyes. He could still taste her sweetness on his lips when he awoke. It was getting too real for him to bear.

Gabriel noticed that he had been holding his breath and forcefully released the air from his chest. He looked down into his friend's worried face. "Peter, thanks."

"Of course," Peter said with a nod. He propped himself up on his elbows and continued, "why don't we go knock down that wall today?"

Gabriel groaned. "Not that again. Don't you realize that we're never getting out of here? We are trapped here forever. There is no escape."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Gabe? This is not real. It's an illusion inside your own mind. There has to be a way to get out of here," Peter said. "We're not alone in New York. We're in Matt Parkman's basement, and we will get out."

"No, Peter. Not today. I don't feel like it. It's been every day for years that we've pounded away at that wall and we have made exactly zero progress. I give up."

"Suit yourself," Peter said as he rolled off the edge of the bed. As he walked out of Gabriel's room, he turned and looked back over his shoulder. "You know where to find me." He crossed the apartment and Gabriel lost sight of him as he went into his own room. When he came back into view, he was wearing the same charcoal grey long sleeved shirt and dark jeans that he wore every day. He grabbed the sledgehammer that was resting by the front door and shot one more look at Gabriel as he closed the door behind him.

Gabriel stretched back out on the bed and shut his eyes, trying to recall Claire's image on the back of his eyelids once more. He opened his eyes when he saw that his efforts were useless. He was too awake to fall back into his dream. Even though his dreams of Claire were never pleasant, at least they were something. He regretfully rubbed his arm where her face had once been tattooed. When he had shape shifted into Claire's roommate Gretchen, it had disappeared. As he yearned for some way to remember her, he wished that he had been able to keep his tattoo, Samuel's last gift to him.

He looked over at the ornate clock on his dresser. Its gold hands declared that the time was 9:57. Usually he preferred to wake up earlier, but it wasn't like he exactly had a full agenda for the day. With Peter occupied with his endless quest to tear down the wall, Gabriel had the day to himself. The first order of business was to try out his best imitation of Ronald Reagan. "Mister Gorbachev, tear down this wall!" he boomed into the empty apartment. He allowed himself exactly one chuckle at his own joke and resigned himself to figuring out a way to work an "Iron Curtain" reference into his next conversation with Peter.

The next order of business was breakfast. Of course, being nothing more than a delusion meant that neither he nor Peter actually needed to eat or sleep. Gabriel had tested this theory himself on multiple occasions when he had been unable to will himself to get out of bed for weeks at a time. However, he preferred to keep himself on a routine that was as close to normal as possible. Before Peter arrived, it was the only thing that kept him grounded in reality. Now he took solace in his rituals. He walked into the small kitchen, not bothering to get dressed. He wore nothing but a pair of snug black boxer-briefs, but this morning he was alone and could not be bothered to put on a shirt. Peter had thoughtfully turned on the coffee maker before he left, and Gabriel breathed in the bitter aroma appreciatively. He dug around in the refrigerator for a minute and pulled out the milk and a grapefruit. Momentarily he contemplated taking a swig directly from the milk jug, but he thought of Peter and instead pulled a tall glass down from the cupboard. Gabriel also retrieved a bowl and a grapefruit spoon before he sat down at the table. He was pretty sure that he did not actually own any of the fancy serrated spoons he had found in this version of his old apartment, but he did find them quite useful. He was sure that if he had owned a set, Sylar would have found a creative yet completely disturbing use for them.

As usual, he decided to forgo the sugar for his fruit. It was not self-flagellation by a long shot, but Gabriel still felt it necessary to punish himself in all of the little ways he could think of. As he carefully segmented the ruby flesh, he halfway expected to see blood pooling in the slices instead of juice. The coffee pot audibly clicked from the brew setting to the warm setting, and Gabriel rose to pour himself a mug. The mug he selected today was a hand-thrown piece that he had purchased at an art festival many years ago. It was brown with white and tan alternating stripes, and the handle was slightly lopsided, but the artist had been a pretty young girl whose smile he simply could not resist. He smiled at the memory as the brew sloshed into his mug. He dumped the last swallow of milk from his glass into his coffee and walked back into the living room.

Clocks ticked on every surface, hundreds of them echoing in near perfect harmony. But it wasn't exactly perfect, and Gabriel of course noticed this immediately. He knew he was looking for a wrist watch, and within a few moments he had found the culprit in his pile of Tag-Heuers. He had fixed this one a few weeks ago, but it had since lost half a second. He opened it up and peered at its tiny components through his tabletop magnifying glass, quickly identifying and repairing the problematic hairspring.

The mug of coffee beckoned and he lifted it to his lips and took a deep drink. Coffee was yet another thing that he missed putting sugar into. One day, if he found his way out, he might once again indulge himself in a soy latte. He placed the watch back with the others similar to it and leaned back in his chair. Gabriel ran his fingers through his thick black hair. Absentmindedly, he picked up his copy of _Pillars of the Earth_, untied the shoelace that held the covers to the spine, and flipped open to a specific page and began to read. "Nevertheless, the book gave Jack a feeling that he had never had before, that the past was like a story, in which one thing led to another..."  
"...and the world was not a boundless mystery, but a finite thing that could be comprehended," Gabriel closed his eyes and finished aloud, not needing to look back at the page to know the end of the sentence. This world that he currently occupied was certainly a finite thing, was it not? The only books that he had been able to find were the hundreds of books that he had already read. There were thousands of time pieces, but none that he had not previously repaired. The movies he found were only the handful that he had watched in his lifetime, and the only thing that aired on television was the same news broadcast from years ago, or yesterday, if Peter was really correct. When Peter appeared, there was suddenly more to choose from. Gabriel found a comic book store stocked only with issues of Ninth Wonders, and the television gained a new channel which played repeats of _ER_ all day. Medical textbooks and multitudes of action movies appeared on his shelves.

He carefully tied the well-worn book back together and returned it to its spot on the shelf. After hundreds of reads, Gabriel was sure that he could recite the entire book beginning to end. He rose from his chair and paced the length of the room a couple of times before settling down on the soft leather sofa. The remote control was slightly out of reach, and for a moment, he attempted to pull it to his hand with his mind. Gabriel was not exactly surprised when his experiment failed, so he leaned forward to grab the remote the old fashioned way. He clicked on the TV and hit the play button on the DVD control. His favorite movie, Harold and Maude, jumped to life. Gabriel smiled, knowing that he was not the last person to watch it. Peter must have finally decided to give it a try after so many years of protesting its lack of explosions. Settling back in his seat, Gabriel finished watching the movie from the point where it had been paused.

* * *

It was nightfall when Peter returned. Gabriel was awoken by the soft click of the doorknob turning behind him. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, the television humming static. Peter flicked on the light switch and found Gabriel's eyes following him from the middle of the room.

"You've been gone all day," Gabriel commented.

"Looks like you've been asleep all day," was Peter's retort.

"I was watching a movie and nodded off-" Gabriel cast a glance at the nearest clock, which read 8:35. "-wasn't out more than a few hours," he lied. "Um, are you hungry?"

"Yeah," Peter said as he plopped down next to Gabriel on the sofa. Gabriel looked his sweaty friend over for a moment. His hair was disheveled and his shirt clung to his chest.

"No progress, huh?" It was more of a statement than a question. Peter shook his head.

Gabriel rose from the sofa, stretching his long limbs as he walked toward the kitchen. He mentally ran though the list of ingredients he needed before opening the door of the refrigerator. Long ago, he had discovered that essentially anything he thought of was available to him. That was excellent, because even though he loved to cook, Gabriel absolutely hated grocery shopping. Everything he wanted was right at his fingertips when he peered inside the door: sausage, fresh basil, red bell peppers, and an onion. He walked over to the cabinet above the stove and pulled out olive oil and pasta. He put a pot of water on to boil and turned his attention to the vegetables that needed chopping.

"What are we going to do, Gabe?" came the voice from the other room.

Gabriel was about to chiffonade the basil but paused, one hand on the rolled up basil leaves and the other holding an impossibly sharp chef's knife. He played dumb to Peter's question. "You mean, for dinner? Stop being so impatient, I'm working on it," he called into the living room.

"You know what I'm talking about. How are we going to get out of here? We've got to stop messing around and save..."

"Peter, are you kidding? We're the only ones left. Your girlfriend, what's her name again?"

By this point, Peter had walked halfway into the kitchen and was leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. "Emma. Her name's Emma," he said, exasperated.

"Right, Emma. She's gone, everyone's dead but us, can't you see? There's no way out from here." Gabriel returned his attention to the herbs in front of him.

"I can't believe that. I just can't. I'm sorry." Peter returned to the living room and landed on the couch with a soft _whump_.

Gabriel dumped the thin strips of basil into the pan where the sausage and onions were sizzling away merrily and followed Peter into the living room, rubbing the moisture from the herbs off of his hands and onto his pants as he walked. "Look, I don't mean to upset you, but don't you think our efforts have been wasted?" he asked Peter.

"We're doing something wrong, I know it. I just don't know what we need to do differently! The wall is the key. It's the wall from Parkman's basement." Peter sprang from the sofa and faced Gabriel intently. "It has to be our way out!" he was practically shouting.

It was Gabriel's turn to console Peter, and he closed the gap between them, pulling his friend against him. Peter resisted, not wanting comfort from his anger. "Gabriel," he protested. He pushed his palms against Gabriel's bare chest and struggled to break from his hold.

"Shut up, Peter." Gabriel tightened his vice-like grip and Peter finally gave in to the hug, slumping against Gabriel's warm body with his forehead resting on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel held him there for a moment before pulling back and holding Peter at arm's length, his hands on each of Peter's shoulders. "Go take a shower, okay? Dinner will be ready when you get out."

"Yeah," Peter quietly said and padded off toward the bathroom. As soon as Gabriel heard the _whoosh_ of the shower turning on, he returned to the kitchen to finish cooking their meal.

A few minutes later, Peter emerged from the bathroom wearing Gabriel's blue terrycloth robe and rubbing his hair with a towel. He sat down at the kitchen table, noticing that while he had been in the shower, Gabriel had gotten dressed in his usual black jeans and grey button down shirt.

"Penne Rustica al Gabriel!" Gabriel said with a flourish as he pridefully placed the plate of pasta in front of Peter.

"Ah, Gabe, it smells delicious." Peter said appreciatively. Gabriel smiled and took his seat across the table. They finished their meal in silence, Peter going back for seconds and then thirds as Gabriel picked at his original red peppers distractedly.

When Peter had finally finished all of the food, Gabriel rose and took both of their plates to the sink. He dumped the remainder of his own plate of pasta into the garbage and begin to wash the few dishes.

"You cooked dinner, I'll do the dishes," said Peter, raising from his seat.

"No, no. I'll get them. You should get some rest." Gabriel said, leaving no option for discussion.

Peter nodded. "Look Gabe, do you need me to..." he trailed off, unsure of the words he could use to describe the situation.

Gabriel understood his intent, naturally. "No, I think I'll be okay tonight. Thanks though." Peter gave him a look that indicated "_are you sure?_" but Gabriel, not liking to be questioned, simply raised a single eyebrow in response. When Peter finally shrugged and headed toward his bedroom, Gabriel turned his attention back to his soap filled sink and diligently began to scrub the stainless steel pan.

Gabriel finished washing and drying the dishes in solitude. Now that he was alone, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to Claire. He threw the spoon he was drying back into the soapy water in disgust. In all the years he had been here, he still had been unable to forgive Matt Parkman for this. It wasn't that he was trapped in solitude, no, Gabriel felt that that was proper punishment for Sylar's wrongdoings. It was that he was sure that if he ever was able to escape, he would still have his powers. He could feel them pulsing just out of reach whenever he was at the wall. Breaking through would again give him access to the thing that caused him to become a monster, the thing that caused Claire to hate him. Did he want to escape, just to be confronted with the reality that he could never be with the one person who could truly come to understand him? She was different, not like the others. Since he had taken her power, he was truly the only person who could share that experience with her.

For the first time, something clicked within Gabriel's mind. He certainly did need to escape, because there was nobody else who would be there for Claire. Everyone she ever knew would die. Even if she did not come to love him, at the very least he could be the constant in her life. Certainly even being with someone you hated was better than being alone. Gabriel fished the spoon out of the sink and washed it again.

He finished drying the rest of the dishes and put them away in the cabinet. As he left the kitchen, he turned off the light behind him, plunging him into total darkness. On instinct, he navigated toward Peter's bedroom. It was the only room that was different from the apartment's original layout. Sometime between the time Peter first arrived and the time when he decided to speak to Gabriel, Gabriel had noticed the extra door where a bookcase had once been. Conveniently, Gabriel had a place for Peter to stay when they decided it was simply logical for the only residents of New York to stick close together. The rest of the apartment looked eerily similar to how it did when the watchmaker lived there years before.

* * *

Long ago, when Gabriel was still coming to terms with his new found powers and the hunger that accompanied them, he had returned from his errands one day and could tell someone had been in his apartment. It was only the slightest disturbances that informed him of his uninvited guest- his closet door left slightly ajar, one of his anatomy books nudged at a minuscule yet obviously incorrect angle. Not knowing who had found him or what they were after, Gabriel panicked. The fear he felt served only as validation for the monster he had become. He wished to believe that he was a good man, a victim of Elle's and Noah Bennet's manipulations and some strange mental problem that he just needed to learn to control. Gabriel was horrified at his actions and yearned for penance, yet his only instinct when threatened was to run. He could not convince himself that this was the noble action taken by an honest man. No, now he believed he really was nothing but a murderer. He immediately packed all of his belongings, tore down his map which he had spent so much time to construct, scrubbed his confessional from the walls, and fled. Sylar left Gabriel behind in the apartment that day and never returned.

When he first arrived here, in this alternate reality, the only place he could think to redeem himself was the very location that he had become Sylar. He wandered the streets before he found himself in Queens, looking for his old apartment building. Apartment 1B was strangely enough, preserved exactly as if he had never left at all. He was shocked when he opened his closet to find his old map of the locations of known evolved humans, covered in pictures and yarn. Even stranger, on the wall "FORGIVE ME" was still painted in Trevor Zeitlan's blood surrounded by a sea of "I have sinned" repeated over and over. Sylar knew that he had removed every trace of himself before walking out the apartment door for the last time, but here it was in front of him. Everything from his memories seemed to be there, even things that made no sense. Elle's pie steamed on the countertop, fresh as the day she brought it. His list of special humans, written on a notepad with "Grey and Sons" letterhead, lay crumpled in the wastebasket. Ziti bubbled away in a glass dish in his oven. A spattering of blood on the wall and a bloody handprint on the door had reappeared as well, even though he had cleaned them up long before he had finished the map.

He had scrubbed the walls again, removing all traces of his former life. He threw his anatomy texts and copy of _Activating Evolution_ by Chandra Suresh out the window. He ripped at the map, throwing the yarn and pushpins in the trash and ripping the photographs and notes and newspaper clippings into tiny bits before throwing them in as well. He ripped down the string of lights that illuminated his closet and stepped on every last one, afterward sweeping up the glass and wires from the floor. He yanked the pie from the counter and the pasta from the oven, ignoring the shiny pink burn the hot dish created across his palm. Sylar stuffed everything into a large black trash bag and hauled it outside to the dumpster. He brushed his hands together and breathed a sigh of relief, finally ready to start his life anew.

The first thing he noticed when he returned to his apartment was the smell of peach pie wafting under the door.

"No..." he whispered as he flung open the door. The pie sat innocently on his counter, still warm and covered by a blue and white cloth. He ran to the trashcan and looked inside. His hands shook as he retrieved a white ball of paper from the bin and smoothed it out on the kitchen table. His own handwriting declared "BRIAN DAVIS 1414 BERMAN ST NY NY." Sylar in-took a sharp breath and dashed toward his closet, his eyes wide as he slammed the door open, its hinges groaning under the pressure. As the doorknob slammed into the opposite wall, Sylar backed up, unable to find his breath. The force with which he had opened the door was now causing it to slowly shut, but he had seen enough. He stumbled backward wildly for a few steps before losing his footing and falling backward to the ground. He continued to scramble away from the door as fast as he could, kicking and flailing to put as much distance between him and the closet as possible. The map still hung on the wall.

The next day he returned to the closet with a gallon of white paint, a paintbrush, and a tin of lighter fluid, his jaw set in determination. He put the books, the contents of his map, and everything else flammable and related to evolved humans in his metal trash can and doused it all with the flammable liquid. He lit a match, threw it into the trash can, and watched the fire burn until the contents were nothing more than a charred black amorphous blob. He covered his walls with white paint, first one coat, then another, then another, until not a trace of his confessionals showed through. Sylar slumped to the floor, satisfied with his efforts. He leaned against a bookshelf and allowed his eyes to shut for just a moment.

Not more than a few seconds had passed before the smell of something sweet and metallic flooded his nostrils. A viscous, warm liquid began to pool under his fingers, and his eyes flew open. He snapped his hand up to eye level and gasped at what he saw. Fresh blood dripped from his hand. It was splattered on his shirt -was he wearing this white button down with blue stripes a moment ago?- and when he jumped up, he saw that it streamed down from the wall behind him. Sylar ran to the bathroom, where he saw the blood was also sprayed across his cheek and the lens of Gabriel's glasses, which had also appeared on his face. Trevor's screams echoed in his ears as he ripped his clothes from his body. He turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature to searingly hot. Sylar frantically scrubbed his skin until it was pink and raw and the water ran clear at his feet.

It was more than a month before he decided to approach the pie. He had been forced to smell his favorite scent every day since he had returned to the apartment, yet he could only think of it as further torture on top of his solitude. Sylar had thrown the pie away every day for weeks before giving up and ignoring it as best he could. The demon pie, as he had begun to think of it, remained steaming hot no matter how long it sat on his counter. He tried leaving it out for days at a time, but it never cooled off or changed in any way. If he threw it away, it returned as soon as he averted his gaze from the counter. Sylar once stared at the same spot on the counter for three days after he threw the pie in the bin, only to have it reappear when he closed his eyes just long enough to sneeze. This time, Sylar had a new idea.

He took the pie into the living room with a fork, and sat on the floor in the same place he had originally shared the pie with Elle. When he punctured the crisp crust with the tines of his fork, sticky orangish-brown liquid bubbled up through the crevice. He raised a forkful of peach and crust to his lips, cautiously placing the morsel on his tongue. It was sweet and spicy and delicious, exactly how he remembered it. He chewed, and swallowed, and speared another bite on his fork. As he took his second bite, he contemplated how Elle would never be able to make him another peach pie. He thought back to his suicide attempt in the watch shop, which he now, for the first time, realized that she had used her power to abort. Sylar took another bite of pie. He thought of how she looked deeply into his eyes, gently caressed his face with the back of her hand, and said, "You're special, just the way you are," and he took another bite. He remembered how she taught him her power, held his hand in hers as he learned to generate and shape electricity to his will. He remembered how she had helped him learn to gain powers without killing, and he took another bite.

He thought of the way she had made love to him the day of the Eclipse, frantic, completely mindless and ecstatic, and the way he lost himself when he was with her. He thought of how she planted kisses on every surface of his body, devoured every inch of him with a hunger that rivaled his own. Even though he knew that her powers had been lost that night, in his memory he could practically feel the sparks dancing across her tongue as she drew him into her mouth. At times he found her ability redundant; her passion was an electricity in its own right. He remembered how she moaned when he bit her neck and pulled her hair, how she laid on top of him, smiling as she caught her breath. He remembered how she made him feel, like this was all he would ever need, how in that moment of singularity, he had never wanted to kill again. Then, she had wrapped her bare legs around him and fallen asleep in his arms, and now, he took another bite of her pie.

He could no longer escape the thought he had been pushing from his mind this whole time, the final image of her lifeless body on the sand moments before he set it on fire. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore, the smell of salt water and blood and lighter fluid and ozone and Elle's perfume, the taste of her body still fresh on his tongue, his senses were overwhelmed. She had trusted him, and yet Sylar had slaughtered her while she lay beneath him. He had killed her even though he already had her power, just because he felt like it. "You're hurting me," she had said, and Sylar had only replied, "I know." Tears rolled down his cheek and mixed with the peach syrup on his chin before splashing down into the pie plate. Gabriel stuffed the last bite in his mouth, choking on memories and tears and pie.


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel slipped into Peter's bedroom on cat feet. There was barely enough room in the small space for a single bed and a small table. The side of the bed was pushed against the left wall, and the closet was on the right. Beams of light from a nearby street lamp streamed in through the filthy window and fell across Peter's peaceful face. Gabriel crossed the room in two strides and knelt down beside Peter's bed. The tan blanket, identical to the one on his own bed, was draped across Peter's torso. In his left hand, Peter clutched the cover near his face, and his right palm rested on his ribcage. Gabriel counted Peter's slow breaths until he was sure that his friend was soundly asleep.

"I wish I could find the words to say to you," Gabriel whispered. He leaned backward, sitting on his bare feet, and contemplated Peter's form. Gabriel's hand hovered over Peter's cheek for a second, longing to reach out and touch Peter but not daring to for fear of waking him. Gabriel needed the chance to say these words out loud.

"You've given me new purpose, you know. Purging my demons was only the first half of the battle. Before you came I had already decided not to kill again. I have to live every moment with the faces of those people that Sylar-" he caught himself, shook his head, and corrected "-I- those people that I killed in my mind. I can try to divorce myself from Sylar as much as possible, but when I face reality, I know he is a part of me.

"I'm not that man anymore, but I was, for a long time. I honestly believed that I never deserved redemption. Frequently I wonder if I've died and this is Hell. Once upon a time, I think I was a Christian. My mother, my adoptive mother, was at least. I remember going to church as a child, but now I can't honestly be sure if I ever truly believed what the pastor was saying.

"Gabriel," he made a face as he repeated his own name aloud. "Can you believe it? They named me after an angel. If anything, I am the angel of death." Gabriel rested his hands on the edge of the bed, folded as if in prayer.

"I know I don't have any right to ask you for forgiveness. You have given me so much, and yet I have only taken from you. I never had any siblings, you know, which means that I realize that I can never fully understand the magnitude of what I have done to you, to your family. I don't deserve forgiveness." He slouched forward, his fingertips on his temples and his chin touching the soft bedspread.

"I do have Nathan's memories inside of me still, and every day I can feel his love for you within me. For months I thought that that was the explanation for the..." Gabriel's voice faltered. "...the feelings I have for you."

He allowed himself to gather his thoughts for a few moments before leaning in and continuing. "You've given me a reason to continue," he whispered. "Everyone who I ever loved is either dead or detests me. I have no family left, I've killed one woman and might as well have killed the other, hell, I don't even have a dog. But you- I know you care for me. I know because of the way you look at me, the way you always come and comfort me when I have nightmares... I'm sure that a part of you still hates me, and I completely understand that, but Peter, I've... I've come to love you."

When Gabriel said these words, he noticed his heart was pounding furiously. He briefly feared that his heartbeat was so loud that it would awaken Peter, before acknowledging how silly of an idea that was. Nevertheless, he paused and listened to Peter's breathing again. No longer was Peter breathing the heavy, solid breaths of a dreamer. Gabriel sat up, roughly rubbed his palms over his face a few times, and blinked hard. Now that he had said his peace, and possibly awoken Peter anyway, Gabriel gathered his nerve and allowed himself to run his fingertips across Peter's collarbone. His fingers slowly continued their ascent up Peter's neck before pausing behind his ear. Peter's lips parted gently and an inaudible word escaped his lips. Gabriel knew he should stop, back up quietly, but he did not want to, he could not will himself to. Curiosity got the better of his judgement and he tilted his head toward Peter, their faces only inches apart. From this distance, he was certain that Peter was no longer asleep.

"Peter?" he said as softly as possible.

"Gabe," came the response, Peter's voice still hoarse and laden with dreams. The edges of his mouth turned up into a grin as he said, "I thought you said you'd be okay tonight."

"I lied."

Without stopping to think, Gabriel found his lips mere millimeters from Peter's cheek. His mouth hovered downward, Peter's breath hot against him. When he finally, after what seemed like a millenium of moments, brought his lips to Peter's, Gabriel found himself completely breathless. His heart pounded in his ears and he quickly pulled back, afraid of what he had done. Claire, Emma, his friendship with Peter, what had he destroyed? The thoughts caught in his throat.

Peter gasped and opened his eyes, jarred by Gabriel's sudden reaction. He rolled to his side and searched Gabriel's face for an indication of his thoughts, but came up empty handed. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but was unsure of what could be said.

"Sorry, oh, god, I'm sorry," Gabriel stammered, shaking his head, burying his face in his hands.

Peter reached forward and gently ran his fingers through Gabriel's hair. Carefully, Peter slid his hand under Gabriel's chin and lifted his face so he had no choice but to make eye contact with Peter. Peter's words were gentle as he said, "Don't apologize."

"I... don't understand," said Gabriel.

"I told you not to apologize. Not... for this." Peter hooked a finger in the collar of Gabriel's shirt and tried to pull him back toward the bed.

"What do you want, Peter?" Gabriel's words held no implication; his expression was one of deep concern.

"I want to forget." Peter sighed. He continued to pull on Gabriel's shirt, greedily, needing to feel Gabriel's body against his. Gabriel let go of his resistance, allowing Peter to guide him. Their mouths met again, this time without caution. Peter parted his lips, wanting more, aching for the feeling of someone, anyone. He wrapped his arms around Gabriel's neck, kissing him deeper. Gabriel was consumed by the smell of Peter's sweat, the spicy taste of his mouth, the way he carefully licked at Gabriel's bottom lip. Gabriel's face flushed with passion as he surrendered his inhibitions. He twisted his fingers through Peter's hair, matching his frenzy. Gabriel devoured Peter's prodding tongue, sucking and biting until Peter gasped for him to yield. Then it was Peter, also overcome with desire, who was biting Gabriel's lip, matching his violence blow for blow, their tongues struggling for dominance.

Peter stopped and pulled back from their embrace, words hovering on the tip of his tongue. Gabriel noted that his eyes still brimmed with the pain of a recent loss.

"Yes, Peter?" Gabriel asked, one eyebrow raised to punctuate his question.

"I just want you to know, Gabe. This doesn't change anything."

"No," Gabriel agreed, "this doesn't change anything." Gabriel said quietly as he swung one of his legs over Peter. Now hovering above him, Gabriel roughly pulled Peter back up into their kiss.

* * *

Gabriel untangled his limbs from Peter's slowly, attempting not to wake him for the second time that night. Peter stirred, grumbled, and rolled over, pulling the blankets around his face. Silently as he had arrived, Gabriel snuck out of Peter's room, picking up his pants and shirt from where they had been flung on the floor a few hours prior. He pulled Peter's door shut behind him and walked into the cool living room. It was still completely dark outside as he flicked on the coffee maker. A glance at the kitchen clock told him that it was 5:04 in the morning. He shivered in the crisp morning air as he pulled on his pants. Gabriel buttoned up his shirt and retrieved his black wool peacoat from the closet. He didn't feel like making breakfast, but he did wish he had some sort of granola bar. A chuckle escaped his lips as he realized he probably did have some sort of granola bar. He walked back into the kitchen and reached into the cabinet where he always found the cereal. Of course a banana walnut Clif bar appeared at his fingertips. He grinned and stuffed it into his pocket. Eight years and he still wasn't used to that little convenience.

Another thought crossed his mind, and he pulled a box of frosted wheat from the shelf and set it on the table. A bowl, a spoon, and Peter's favorite mug completed the set. Gabriel knew he could have done better, pancakes or something, but he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He needed to get some air and allow his thoughts to run around in his head. He hoped Peter wouldn't mind his absence.

Leaving the apartment, he almost forgot how alone he really was. Two lives ago, he frequently took walks before work on cold days like this. Even in an area as populated as Queens, he often would walk for blocks before seeing another soul foolish or crazy or unfortunate enough to be out that early. Allowing himself to go on autopilot, Gabriel retraced the route he had so often taken from his house to the shop. It was certainly not the most expedient path, but it allowed him to pass a tiny pastry shop that always had the most delicious, buttery scones. At this hour, they were just being pulled out of the oven. They didn't usually open this early, but the owner was a friend of his adoptive father and a frequent customer at Grey and Son's. Whenever he saw Gabriel, he would unlock the door and hand him a steaming scone wrapped in brown paper, usually an ugly one that had gotten pushed against the edge of the pan, but delicious just the same. His senses were overwhelmed with memories so vivid they could only have come from childhood. As Gabriel passed the shop, he half expected to see the door fling open and an old man thrusting a cinnamon scented package at him. But, like every storefront, the pastry shop was completely abandoned.

Gabriel gave the door a nudge and it swung open. He never seemed to find locked doors here. Stepping inside, he wondered if the proprietor was even alive anymore. He had been gone from the watch shop so long that he wasn't even sure. A thick layer of dust, eight year's worth, had settled on every surface. Gabriel ran a finger along the countertop and frowned disapprovingly at the residue that clung to his skin. He pondered the limitations of this world that could preserve a pie for months, allow any grocery to appear in his kitchen, but a scone was simply too much to ask for. No, he didn't need to ponder. Anything that might provide him the slightest bit of comfort, anything that might allow him to recall a human connection, was denied of him. He dejectedly left the shop, vowing to himself that this would be his first stop as soon as he returned to the real Queens.

The wrapper of the energy bar crinkled in his hand as he nibbled at its contents. He thought that a trip to the shop would clear his head, and he anticipated which watches he would work on when he arrived. There was a Rolex with a green face and tiny little bezel cut diamonds around the outside edge. He had fixed that watch a hundred times, and it had been returned to its owner long ago in a distant lifetime, but it always managed to reappear, broken, whenever Gabriel returned to the shop. He remembered the first time that he had first laid eyes on it. He had been maybe fifteen years old when he saw it waiting on his father's workbench, and his face had lit up like someone had wrapped a string of Christmas bulbs around his ears. His father didn't say anything, but when Gabriel had returned from school that day, the Rolex was sitting on his own workbench, waiting to be repaired. During the past few years, he found himself opening the back of that watch over and over again when familiarity was the only thing he craved.

Gabriel snapped back into reality when he saw the wall looming before him. Lately, it always seemed to be precisely between where he was and where he wanted to be. Defeated, he shoved his hands in his pockets and sat down on the freezing asphalt to think. He chewed the last of his breakfast defiantly and scowled at the brick edifice.

Gabriel felt like there was some greater meaning in Peter's actions last night, but his mind drew a blank when he tried to deduce what it was. All this time, had Peter been waiting on Gabriel to make the first move? When had things changed between them? Gabriel was positively flummoxed. Yes, they had shared a bed before, but nothing had ever come of it. Gabriel didn't know if their actions were simply the result of spending nearly a decade without feeling the passionate embrace of another human, but if he was completely honest with himself, he kind of hoped it was something else entirely. He had often looked at Peter's lips across the dinner table and wondered if they were as soft and yielding as they appeared. He loved how his pillow smelled the morning after Peter had slept beside him. When they were apart, Gabriel simply felt like something was missing. Did Peter feel the same way?

Last night was not the center of his thoughts only because what had happened between Peter and himself. It had also been the first one in ages that he had not been haunted by nightmares. He had to admit that he felt a bit empty. In his dreams, his connection to Claire was so tangible that it often felt more real than his waking experiences. Dreams of her death were particularly horrifying to him, even though he knew that they were impossible. The dreams where they were separated, the dreams where she was running from him, and the dreams where she was somehow trapped were all nightmares within a nightmare, yet watching her feel the pain she was no longer capable of feeling made Gabriel want to vomit. He could not even begin to fathom the psychological pain he had caused her. Anything he had done to Peter paled in comparison to what he had forced Claire to endure. He had killed both of her biological parents and hunted her for her powers. Now he expected her to trust him because he had used her to gain immortality? Gabriel felt ridiculous. He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

Even though he heard the approaching footsteps, Gabriel did not bother to turn. He recognized the sound of Peter's gait striding confidently toward him. Besides, there was no one else it could possibly be.

"Happy Birthday." Peter dropped a package crudely wrapped in newspaper in Gabriel's lap as he walked passed.  
"It's not my birthday, Peter." Gabriel tore open one side of the wrapping and slid out a new copy of _Pillars of the Earth.  
"_Yeah, well, I found it while I was digging around, and your copy was wearing out, so..." Peter waved his hand dismissively and toed at the ground.

Gabriel looked up at him appreciatively. "Thank you."

"No Gabe, thank you. You somehow found a way to keep me sane here." Peter reached for the sledgehammer and slung it back over his shoulder.

"It's funny," Gabriel said, "every time you pick up that thing I'm sure you're going to swing it at me as hard as you can."  
"Yeah, it is funny, because every time I pick up this hammer I think I'm going to hit you with it as hard as I can, too," Peter laughed, but Gabriel was unsure how much truth was in his joke.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry. About Nathan, about... everything." Gabriel stood and walked over to Peter, who was now pounding away at the wall with all his strength. Peter continued to drive the sledgehammer against the brick, a look of determination on his face.

"Look, Gabriel, I can't forgive you for that. I have to do right by Nathan. Tell me, if I let go, what do I have left of him?" Peter gritted his teeth and continued to focus on the bricks in front of him, trying to avoid making eye contact with Gabriel.  
"Peter, you've forgiven me for everything else. Hating me won't bring Nathan back." He stepped between Peter's hammer and the wall, his face only inches from Peter's.

Still averting his eyes from Gabriel's gaze, knowing that it would only weaken whatever resolve was left within him, Peter confessed, "I was awake last night." It took a moment for the meaning of these words to sink in for Gabriel.

"You mean..." Gabriel replayed the one-sided conversation in his head. Peter nodded, his face solemn and not betraying his thoughts. "How long?" Gabriel asked.

"The whole time. I heard everything you said." Peter took another swing at the wall. Mere inches from Gabriel's head, metal made contact with brick, the sound of the impact echoing through the empty street.

"Then... you know how I feel," said Gabriel.

"I've known for a long time, but does it matter? _You killed my brother_, Gabriel. You said it yourself last night. How do you expect me to ignore that?" Flames danced behind Peter's face, and for a moment Gabriel was no longer unhappy that Peter was refusing to look at him. He did not want that look directed at him.

"I'm not that guy anymore, Peter. You know that." Gabriel took a deep breath. His eyes implored Peter to consider his words. He placed his hand firmly on Peter's shoulder.

Peter paused, the sledgehammer slung over his shoulder, and finally looked into Gabriel's pleading eyes. Peter's visage softened as he contemplated the changes he had witnessed in the man he now regarded as the closest of friends. As much as he wished he could hold onto the hatred in his heart, it simply was no longer there. "I know. I know you're not," he grudgingly admitted with the slightest of smiles. Peter patted Gabriel on the arm and smiled at him before taking another swing at the wall. A chip of brick rattled to the ground. Shocked, Gabriel gaped at the piece of brick on the ground, then the wall, then at Peter, then back at the wall. Gabriel gave Peter's shoulders an excited squeeze before running to grab a hammer. Both dressed in their black coats and dark jeans, Gabriel and Peter made a perfectly mirrored pair as they swung feverishly at the wall.

Blinding light spilled through the enlarging hole, silhouetting the men against the remains of the wall. Finally, the nightmare was over.

* * *

The impossibly bright light instantly transitioned to pitch black. Gabriel tried to move, but found himself confined in a tiny space. His hands felt along the walls of his cell and he instantly realized where he was. The actual brick wall was now his only obstacle. He breathed in, took a quick inventory, and- yes! His powers had returned, and after eight years he was itching to exercise them. Flattening his palms against the brick, he generated a push from deep within himself.

The bricks exploded outward, knocking Gabriel and Peter into a heap on the floor.

"Are you okay?" Peter asked as they helped each other to their feet. He reached up and fixed Gabriel's disheveled hair with a grin.

Gabriel nodded. "How long were we in there, really?" he asked, brushing the dust off his coat.

Peter checked his watch and responded with a shrug, "Half a day, maybe"

"It felt like we were in there for years," Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. Peter nodded.

"Was it real, do you think?" asked Peter.

"It wouldn't change anything even if it was," said Gabriel, only the slightest tinge of discomfort in his voice.

"Do you believe that, Gabe?" Peter looked at him and smiled.

Gabriel ignored the look Peter was giving him. He didn't have time to analyze his friend's wording or facial expressions right now. "Come on, we've got someone to save."

"I hate to break up the love fest, boys, but you're not going anywhere," a third voice joined from the stairs. "I'm here to see that you don't interfere with Samuel's plans."

In the time it took Peter and Gabriel to exchange a glance, the newcomer had replicated three copies of himself behind them.

"I'd love to see how that works," mused Gabriel, "but maybe we can come back to that later." Peter grabbed Gabriel's shoulder and sifted through his powers like a book.

"You have a new one... it's... similar to mine," Peter looked at Gabriel, confused.

"I told you I'd changed," Gabriel grinned. "We'll come back to that later as well," he dismissed Peter's concern with a flick of his wrist. "Now, why don't we have some fun?" He turned on his heels and directed his attention back to the clones.

Peter was already charging his hands as Gabriel slammed the first clone against the wall with a wave of his hand. A blue arc of lightning exploded from Peter, quickly dispatching the second clone. The fallen foes vaporized as their bodies hit the ground. Now only two opponents remained, and one of them was the real thing.

"Do you want to make a bet?" Peter asked.

"Nah, I don't want to take advantage of you," said Gabriel, who had already picked out his target. He hurled another telekinetic blast, knocking the man closest to Peter backward into the stairs. His head smacked the edge of the rail as he went down, slumping into a crumpled heap on the ground. With the prime knocked out, the last remaining clone disappeared. Gabriel grinned smugly, satisfied with himself.

"That was a bit too easy, don't you think?" Gabriel asked.

"I'm sure that's just the opening show. Come on, we've got to take care of the main act," Peter said. Peter quickly headed up the stairs while Gabriel contended with the unconscious man. Gabriel grabbed the dead weight by the back of the shirt and dragged him up the first few stairs before realizing that it would be much easier to simply use his abilities.

"It's only dislocated," came Peter's voice from around the corner.

"Awesome," was Matt's response. Just then, the body of the multiple man slammed into the kitchen floor, followed closely by Gabriel confidently striding into the room.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Matt glared at Gabriel with contempt and looked back at Peter, searching for an answer. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to rise to his feet. "I trapped him in a nightmare. What the hell is he doing out?" Determination gave way to pain and Matt sat back down, shifting his glare to Peter now, and said, "You did this. You let him out, didn't you?"

"It's a long story," said Gabriel and Peter simultaneously. Gabriel cracked a grin and Peter threw him a look over his shoulder before continuing, "We need to know what Samuel's planning, when and where."

"Thousands of people are in danger, Matt," finished Gabriel.

Peter nodded his head toward the unconscious man on the floor and said, "You can get in his head, Matt, and tell us what you see."  
"What, so you two can run off and be superheroes together?" Matt exploded. "How could you possibly trust Sylar after what he's done? Peter, he's a monster!"

"Ouch," Gabriel said, feigning injury.

Peter scowled at Matt. "You want something done..." he muttered under his breath as he crossed the room. Using Matt's power, Peter knelt down beside the man and sifted through his thoughts. "Samuel's going to show the world his power. Tonight, in Central Park." He pulled back and looked up at Gabriel.

Gabriel returned the look and asked, "What does he mean, show his power?"

"He's going to open up the ground, kill them all," said Peter, getting to his feet. "Bury them."

Despite his best efforts, a grin spread across Gabriel's face. "Sounds like a plan Sylar would have come up with, back in the day." He couldn't help but acknowledge a bit of evil genius when he saw it.

"You say that like it wasn't yesterday. You say that like you're not Sylar!" Matt snapped.

Gabriel whirled around to face him. For the second time in the span of hours, he found himself insisting, "I'm not that person anymore." This time, however, his voice was firm and unyielding. His brow was set with determination.

"If you leave with Sylar, people are going to get killed. That's not going to be on my conscience. You're not walking out of here with him." Matt scowled at Peter, his face that of a man betrayed.

Peter shot him a look in return. "Come on," he said, grabbing Gabriel's arm to leave.

"I'm not going anywhere," said Gabriel with the same conviction he had used just moments ago to insist Matt was wrong. Something pulled within him, he knew that leaving Matt's house would be a bad idea. Gabriel suddenly seemed confused at the words that had just come out of his mouth.

"That would be me," said Matt proudly. "I can still push a thought and I'm not letting you leave. Besides, how could you ever trust him, Peter? Sylar killed your brother!"  
"I've repented. I'm no longer Sylar," said Gabriel with quiet insistance.

"Oh, right!" Matt's tone was now mocking. "During your little nightmare? That lasted what, a few hours?"

"What seemed like hours to you was five years to us," said Peter. "During all that time, Gabriel changed, Matt! I saw it myself. He's not the same person anymore."

"And now he's Gabriel to you, Peter? Really? Have you honestly forgotten that he killed Nathan?" Matt sneered.

"I don't expect you to understand what happened to me- to us-" Gabriel grabbed Peter's wrist and gave it a squeeze, "-in the nightmare, and I certainly don't expect you to forgive me. I've done so much wrong to so many people, Matt, but this is a chance to redeem myself. I can save these people. Please, look inside my head. You will see that I truly am a changed man."

Matt hesitated. He glanced over at Peter, who gave him an emphatic nod. With a sigh, Matt searched Gabriel's mind for any kernel of darkness that might remain. When he found nothing, he shook his head, still unconvinced. "I can only see inside your mind. What I can't see is what's inside your heart."

Gabriel's face fell at the sound of Matt's words. "Please, you have to give me a chance," he begged. "Let me show you that I'm no longer the man I used to be."

"Matt, you can trust us. Besides," said Peter, "what choice do you have?"

"Fine. Go save the world," Matt scoffed. "But get the hell out of my house." Matt looked away, annoyed.

Peter wrapped his arm around Gabriel and guided him out the door. "We've got to get to New York," said Peter. When they were outside, Peter pulled Gabriel into a firm hug. Gabriel was obviously a bit shaken from his exchange with Matt. Peter was clearly concerned, but something else had been nagging at him for the past few minutes.

"Gabriel, before we go, I have to know. You're empathic now. Whose power did you take?" Peter eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

"I didn't kill anyone, if that's what you're implying." Gabriel stepped back from Peter's hold. His tone was deadly serious. "I told you, I don't do that anymore. I borrowed it from someone I met at the carnival, Lydia. And now that I have this power, I never need to kill again." Gabriel said, spreading his hands open for emphasis.

"You're not the same as me, though. Can you actually acquire powers by reading people's feelings?" Peter asked.

"My electricity- it's Elle's power. I didn't have to kill her in order to take it. Lydia's ability should make it easier for me to learn new powers. I haven't gotten around to trying it just yet," he admitted. "It's not as easy for me as it is for you."

"Let me borrow it," said Peter as he reached toward Gabriel. Knowing he didn't need to ask permission, Gabriel was a bit touched by Peter's request. He extended his hand, palm upward, to Peter. Peter reached out and placed his fingertips in Gabriel's hand.

"You have all those powers to choose from... you're absolutely intoxicating," said Peter wistfully. He grabbed Gabriel's special brand of empathy and tried it out.

"Aw, is it only my powers you're after?" Gabriel grinned seductively, but Peter was too busy playing with his new toy to notice.

"Oh, this one is nice," said Peter, giving Gabriel's hand a squeeze. "A bit more intimate than mine, isn't it?" Gabriel nodded as Peter continued, "It's a shame you didn't acquire it earlier. If this had been the first power you had taken, imagine where you would be today. Sylar would have run around hugging people instead of cutting open their skulls."

"Sylar wouldn't have existed at all, Peter," Gabriel gently reminded him.

"Right." Peter agreed.

"Okay, ready? That one's not going to get you very far. Maybe you should take Nathan's."

The two figures shot into the air, Parkman's house shrinking rapidly beneath them. Gabriel could feel the pull of the carnival long before he ever saw it. The feeling of returning home registered first, followed by an intoxicating desire, an urgency he was relieved he did not have to fight against.

"What _is_ that?" Gabriel shouted into the wind.

"Emma," replied Peter, who also felt the unmistakable pull. As lights appeared beneath them, they slowed and began to descend. The pair landed on the outskirts of the carnival as not to call attention to themselves. Walking to the center of the activity, Peter looked around and absorbed the sights. He came to a halt.

"Wait," said Peter, putting his arm out to stop Gabriel. "This is just like my dream. All these people, like lambs to slaughter." A haunted look came across his face.

"It's not going to happen, Peter." Gabriel touched his shoulder to console him. "You find Samuel. I'm going to go save Emma," said Gabriel. He turned to walk away, but paused. Peter was frozen in place. Gabriel turned back to Peter, concerned. "Your dream said I save her," Gabriel touched his fingers to Peter's chest. "Trust me," he implored, tilting his head slightly and narrowing his eyes with intent. As he disappeared into the crowd, Gabriel held Peter's gaze for an extra beat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Gabriel needed only to follow the tug within his chest in order to locate Emma. It was as if someone had put a fish hook in his navel and was slowly reeling him in. He was vaguely aware of the knowledge that diverting from his course would be extremely uncomfortable. If he could hardly resist her pull, these average people did not stand a chance.

He found her in a tent, her eyes filled with tears and slowly playing a cello. At the sight of her bloody fingers, his stomach lurched into his throat. He pushed through the feeling and crossed the floor toward her.

"Who are you?" asked Emma.

"A friend of Peter's. My name's Gabriel, and I'm here to save you," Gabriel said as he grabbed the cello from her. Suddenly, Gabriel's limbs jerked out from his body. A growl rose from his chest as he recognized the familiar ability.

"Doyle," he grumbled.

"What brings you to The Big Apple?" grinned Doyle, his fingers pantomiming playing a cello. The bald, portly man wore a garish blue tuxedo with a pink shirt underneath.

"I don't want to hurt you. Just let Emma go."

"Look at you, asking politely. What's happened to you? Is that really Sylar in there?" he mused.

"I said, let her go," snapped Gabriel through gritted teeth, annoyed at how incapacitated he was. He should have been more careful, but instead, he allowed the puppet master to sneak up behind him. Stupid. "You can't keep us here forever."

"Oh, I don't intend to. Just long enough to finish the show. Isn't that right, Em?" Doyle paused, grinning in anticipation of the joke he was about to make. "I don't think she can hear us," he remarked, his hand cupping to his ear.

That moment of distraction was enough to allow Emma to gain control of her hand. She quickly sliced the bow of her cello across the strings, releasing an explosion of sound. The sonic blast knocked Doyle off his feet and sent him barreling over a chair and into the corner of the tent.

Gabriel's first concern was for Emma. He turned to her and asked if she was okay. As soon as she nodded confirmation, his attention was back to Doyle. His movement now freed, Gabriel fanned his hand out, pinning Doyle to the ground. He snapped his fingers together and began to pull them in the direction of his thumb. Doyle choked and gagged.

"Wait, please! Samuel made me do it!" Doyle protested, his eyes wide.

"That's funny, I thought you were supposed to be the puppet master." Gabriel cocked his head.

"What are you doing, Sylar?" asked Doyle. "Why would you care about this girl, anyway?

"I'm here to save Emma. I'm here to stop Samuel."

"That's not you. Since when do you save people? You kill them."

"No," said Gabriel. "I am a hero now." He resisted the urge to punctuate the point by slamming Doyle's head against the ground. "Sylar's not in here anymore."

"I doubt that," sneered Doyle. "I don't know what you're trying to pull, but you haven't changed." Gabriel flicked his wrist and shot a few jolts into the rotund man. Doyle tried to squirm away, but Gabriel's hold was stronger.

"Plenty more where that came from," said Gabriel. Wondering why he hadn't killed Doyle during their last encounter, Gabriel pumped more electricity into Doyle until his bald head lolled backward and his eyes began to twitch.

Emma grabbed his arm, "You're hurting him!" she exclaimed.

"He's fine," said Gabriel, nudging Doyle's leg with his toe. "Yep, just knocked out." He turned fully toward Emma to make sure she could read his lips clearly. "I'll take care of Doyle. You go find Peter, he's fighting Samuel."

"Don't kill him," she insisted, nodding her head toward Doyle.

"Of course not," Gabriel smiled sweetly.

As Emma dashed from the tent, Gabriel snapped the hand he was using to pin Doyle to the ground up to his shoulder, yanking the disoriented man upright. A motion with his other hand brought two tent poles sailing toward him. They embedded in the soft dirt in front of him.

"Perfect," grinned Gabriel. "I quite like wrapping you up like a package. I'm so lucky that I have the chance to do it again." He bound Doyle's limbs to the pole with strings of lights, working diligently and making sure to use as many knots as possible. As long as Doyle was unable to move his hands, he was harmless. Gabriel plugged in the lights and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

As if on cue, Peter and Emma stepped into the tent. "What do you think?" asked Gabriel with a grin. Peter returned his smile.

"Come on, let's get out of here," said Peter. He playfully punched Gabriel's arm and grinned, but his eyes still held the glazed look of someone who had seen too much. They left the tent and walked out into the carnival.

"Emma, there are some paramedics over there. You should get your hands looked at," Peter said, pointing to the ambulance. "I'm going to go check on everyone else." Emma nodded and gave Peter a quick kiss on the cheek. Peter flushed. Gabriel averted his eyes, ashamed, as he recalled the feeling of Peter's skin under his own lips just hours before. He did his best to shake off these thoughts as they continued further into the crowd.

Peter and Gabriel began to walk toward the area where everyone was gathering. Reporters questioned the few remaining people as emergency response workers tried to wrap everything up. Samuel was being put into a police car and paramedics were performing first aid on people with minor cuts and contusions.

"It's amazing, Peter," said Gabriel.

"What is?" asked Peter, distractedly. He was looking at something else, not entirely listening to what Gabriel was trying to tell him.

Gabriel was too excited to follow Peter's gaze and continued, practically bursting with pride, unable to contain this new feeling any longer. "When I saved Emma, I didn't have a thought for myself. I could have killed Doyle, but I didn't! It felt good, it felt right," he babbled excitedly.

"What the hell does she think she's doing? She's going to change everything!" interrupted Peter, ignoring his friend's statement. Only now did Gabriel look up to see what was happening. His heart pounded as he saw Claire for the first time in eight years. He drank in the sight of her as she climbed the ferris wheel's scaffolding. Peter had seen this enough times before to understand her intent exactly. Even though Gabriel did not share the same prior knowledge, he also had a pretty good idea of what she was planning. All eyes were on Claire as she perched on the edge of the tiny platform, far above the crowd.

"That's right," said Gabriel wistfully. He cast his eyes downward in thought for a moment before looking back up at the cheerleader, his eyes brimming with admiration. "It's a brave new world."

As Claire plummeted toward the ground, a few shrieks broke out from the crowd. She hit the straw covered ground with a sickening thud, her limbs contorted impossibly beneath her. The only people that did not rush toward her on impact were the handful of people in the crowd that already knew what was about to happen. Her health was the last of their concerns at this moment.

"I would have gone with a swan dive," said Gabriel. Peter did not respond, his expression still one of shock. Gabriel shrugged away Peter's current lack of humor and contemplated the mob of reporters descending on Claire, blocking his view.

Peter spotted Noah, standing back from the crowd with an understandably perturbed expression on his face. Beside him stood Lauren, his new girlfriend and Company woman. Her face was smeared with dirt and she looked equally distressed by Claire's actions. Peter grabbed Gabriel by the wrist and led him over to Noah. Before Peter had a chance to say anything, Noah's eyes went wide.

"Sylar," he said through gritted teeth, his hand dropping to the gun on his hip. He took a step forward, putting his body squarely between Gabriel and Lauren.

"Noah, wait," said Peter. He held his free hand up towards Noah, asking for negotiation. "He's here to help. He saved Emma from Doyle. Without him, nobody would have gotten out of here tonight."

Noah's glare shifted from Gabriel to Peter. "He doesn't help people, Peter. You're mistaken."

Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes, sick of having this conversation so many times in one night. "Look Mr. Bennett, I'd love to have time for this, but what are we going to do about your daughter?"

"Don't you even talk about Claire," Noah growled. "You stay away from her. I'll handle this." Noah strode toward the churning sea of cameras and microphones.

"He's not going to get very far," said Gabriel over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on Noah. Peter shook his head in agreement. Predictably, Noah found it impossible to break through the outer circle of the crowd. The reporters viciously jostled against each other, all trying to get the best shot of the healing girl. "Let's take another approach."  
"What do you have in mind?" asked Peter.

"If we can create some sort of distraction, Hiro can blink her out of here. If we don't get her away from that crowd, things are going to get nasty, fast. Can you feel it?" asked Gabriel. Peter once again took use of Gabriel's empathy.

"Yep, no question about it, Gabriel. For now, they're too shocked to do anything, but you can feel the fear spreading through the crowd. The only reason it's taken this long for anything to happen is because we're dealing with reporters. They're used to seeing shocking things. However, this... this is a bit much for even the most seasoned news person." Peter shook his head. "We've got to get her out soon, you're right."

Gabriel had already spotted Hiro in the crowd and was now focusing hard in his direction. "I don't know if I will get the same results as you, Peter. Would you go talk to him? I don't want to deal with 'Brain Man! Brain Man!'" said Gabriel, the last words in his best imitation of Peter's Japanese friend. He rolled his eyes before turning his look back on Peter. With a nod, Peter began to walk toward Hiro.

Now Gabriel was left standing alone with Lauren, and it was obvious to Gabriel that she was not happy with the new situation. Even without his empathy in full use, Gabriel noticed that as Peter walked away from them, Lauren visibly tensed. Surely, Noah had told her all sorts of horror stories about Sylar. Never mind that Noah's own actions were horrific enough to give Sylar's track record a run for its money, all of the Company people had somehow managed to justify "bagging and tagging" as a perfectly appropriate way to deal with evolved humans. Gabriel sniffed in disgust when he thought of his own capture and imprisonment on Level 5. It took an immense amount of effort to wipe the loathing from his eyes as he turned to face Lauren.

"So, here on Company business?" Gabriel grinned.

"You could say that, Sylar," she said through gritted teeth.

Gabriel sighed, "I'm not Sylar anymore. I've changed. You heard Peter."

"I don't believe that for a second. People like you don't change. You're sick." Lauren's hand had dropped to the small of her back, and Gabriel became suddenly aware that she was reaching for her firearm. It was possibly a tazer, but most likely a gun, he mused. Knowing that she reached for it like some sort of security blanket, not because she actually intended to draw it, let alone shoot it, a vague smile crossed Gabriel's face. Why did they always reach for their guns? Bullets barely even slowed down someone who was literally immortal, and besides, if Gabriel so desired, the shooter would be dead before they could even pull the trigger. Luckily for Lauren, Gabriel did not so desire.

"You can take your hand off the gun. I'm not going to hurt anyone," his voice was like warm velvet as he tried to diffuse the situation. He took a step toward her, yet her finger eased off the trigger suspiciously. Lauren kept her mouth set in a hard line, refusing to allow herself to trust the seemingly sincere man before her.

Noah rejoined the strange duo, having given up on breaking through the crowd of reporters to reach his daughter. His eyes blazed with anger as he noticed how close Gabriel was standing to his girlfriend.

"Whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen. We don't know what powers he's acquired lately. In fact," Noah paused, "where's Parkman?"

"He's at his house, safe and sound. Well, not exactly safe," as an afterthought, Gabriel remembered his dislocated knee and corrected himself. "That duplicating carnie got to him and roughed him up a little bit. Nothing to do with me, though."

"Eli?" Noah asked.

Gabriel shrugged, not knowing the man's name. "He came to prevent Peter and me from getting here and stopping Samuel. Long story."

"You were at Matt's house." Noah said, more of a statement than a question.

"Like I said, long story. I asked him to remove my powers. Didn't take." Gabriel waved his hand in the air, as if he was trying to dismiss his statement. It felt like so long ago.

"You expect me to believe that instead of trying to take Matt's power, you asked him to remove all of yours?" He shifted his weight and crossed his arms in front of his chest. For a moment, Gabriel thought Benett actually appeared a bit amused.

"Look Benett, I told you, it's a long story. I think we have other things to worry about-"

"What, dare I ask, would cause the great and powerful Sylar to want to give it all up? All those powers that you worked to acquire? Why would you suddenly throw away your spoils of victory?" Noah's tone was icy. Suddenly overcome with nervous energy, he tapped his foot.

"It was your daughter. It was Claire." Gabriel's voice was nearly a whisper.

Noah laughed deeply. "Claire, huh? Did she get inside your head?"

Gabriel was sick of debating his actions with the man who had repeatedly tried to kill him. He looked over in the direction Peter had headed and found him among the crowd. Gabriel tried to lock eyes with him, but he was busy having an animated discussion with Hiro. They were both gesticulating wildly, repeatedly pointing in the direction of Claire.

Against his better judgement, Gabriel turned his back on Noah and between to close the gap between himself and Peter and Hiro. He raised his arms outward, his palms flat and facing out in a gesture of peace. Gabriel looked like a conductor readying an orchestra, but he hoped Hiro would not freeze him before he was allowed to explain.

"Oh hello, Brain Man!" Hiro gushed. It was not the reaction Gabriel had expected to receive.

"Ah... it's Gabriel now..." he responded, trailing off, his voice betraying his confusion. He slowly dropped his hands to his side and shoved them in his pockets.

"Gabriel then! So sorry, Gabriel. Peter was telling us about your plan to save the Cheerleader!"

"Um, right," said the still unsure Gabriel. "We need to create a distraction so you can get Claire away from those reporters without anyone noticing you just blinked her out. We have to make it look like she escaped on her own, even if that is completely implausible. Any ideas?" He looked at each of the people standing around him in turn.

For the first time, Ando spoke up. "I could supercharge one of those generators over there. A big enough explosion should distract the reporters long enough for Hiro to get her out."

"That's a great idea, but we don't want anyone getting hurt," said Peter. "What's the range on your ability, Ando?"

"I don't know exactly. At least ten feet."

"That's not going to be enough. We can't predict just how large the explosion will be. We'll have to think of something else," said Peter. His brows knitted together in consternation.

"Peter, you can do it." Gabriel suggested. "Take my power-" Instead of vocally finishing his thought, Gabriel extended his hand toward Peter and allowed a tiny blue spark to jump between his fingertips.

"The range on that ability is too short as well. It's not much further than Ando's. That won't work either," Peter said.

Somewhat wistfully, Gabriel thought about the amount of control Elle had over her power, shooting precise arcs across the length of rooms without even concentrating. He had never quite mastered it himself, since he gained her power by learning, not by theft. When he had killed her on the beach, something- respect? shame? love?- had prevented him from prodding around in her brain, even though he knew it would bring him mastery over her ability. He didn't care about powers as he sloshed the gasoline over her rapidly cooling corpse. Sylar would never change; he had to kill her; she wanted to die. She lit with a spark and was gone. Flames roared like a lion unleashed in Gabriel's mind. The rationalizations flooded his brain first with relief- _it wasn't my fault_- then, as the fire dimmed and the moment cracked, with a flood of guilt. Gabriel's mouth suddenly tasted like gasoline and he wanted to vomit. His head spun, he held back a gag, and tried to force himself back to the present before he collapsed.

Gabriel drew his hand to his face, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, hard. He found Peter's hand on the small of his back, steadying him. A look at Hiro and Ando revealed that they had not noticed Gabriel's momentary mental drowning, but he cursed the fact that he could never avoid Peter's empathy. At least a thought had now come to him, and he opened his mouth to share.

"Maybe Ando's ability and Peter's ability are too short ranged individually-" said Gabriel as he gave a pointed look at each of the men, hoping one of them would fill in the blank for themselves. Gabriel was suddenly and immensely tired of speaking.

"Right!" Peter caught on immediately, with Ando only a beat behind.

"I can supercharge you, and then we can stand as far away as we want!" Ando cut in excitedly.

"There are fire fighters still on scene, they should be able to control it before anyone gets hurt. Let's do this! Is everyone ready?" Peter nearly cheered. Ando bobbed his head in confirmation.

"I am ready, Peter Petrelli!" said Hiro.

"Here goes nothing," Peter said with a lilt in his voice. He and Ando began to walk as briskly as possible toward the humming generator at the back of the carnival, leaving Gabriel and Hiro by themselves.

Gabriel leaned in toward Hiro and quietly asked, "Why aren't you trying to kill me again?"

"Peter has told me that you are a good person now. He says you are friends. I'll take Peter's word, as I have always been able to trust him."

"Please Hiro, allow me to go with you. I need to save Claire."

Before Hiro could respond, a noise like two freight trains colliding sounded behind them. A flash of light gave way to an enormous fire ball blooming up over the largest tent. Gabriel did not have time to be concerned for his friends' safety. Shouts rang out from the reporters as they turned to see what was causing the commotion.

Hiro grabbed Gabriel's arm. A blink, and they were standing beside Claire.

The urge to run a hand along her perfectly still cheek was immense, but he had another task. Hiro and Gabriel immediately began to attack the few cameras that remained pointing at Claire, turning them to the ground or angling them away from her. There was no reason to rush, yet the adrenaline from the explosion caused Gabriel to work frantically. As soon as he was sure that there would be no photographic evidence of Claire blinking out of existence, he stepped back to her side. Hiro positioned himself between Gabriel and the frozen girl, grabbed both of their arms, and-

They were in an empty field. Scrubby grass broke through the hard crust of dirt in a few places. Some low brush dotted the landscape and a plastic bag blew through the air in the distance. Gabriel had no idea where they were, but before he could ask, Hiro abruptly said, "I will return with Peter," and disappeared.

Claire began to process the information that her mind had just been presented with. She looked over at Gabriel and balked for a few seconds, then began to scramble backward away from him. Her eyes remained locked on his, as if he would kill her instantly if she dared to blink. "Sylar! What the hell is going on here?" she shouted. "Are you playing another one of your games? Where have you taken me? Is Hiro in on this?"

_Answer one question at a time, _he reminded himself. Doing his best to keep his voice level, Gabriel began, "If you don't remember, you just jumped off of a ferris wheel in front of a bunch of reporters. We had to get you out of there before you got hurt. I'm not playing any games, and I don't know where Hiro has dropped us off. He should be back with Peter soon, and then you can talk to them."

"First of all, Sylar," she spat the name, "I can't get hurt. Don't _you_ remember? 'I couldn't kill you if I tried, you can never die, blah blah blah'? Secondly, I knew exactly what I was doing. Who are you to intervene?"

"You've already revealed yourself. Removing you from the situation did not take anything away from your cause." Gabriel sighed and sat down on a small patch of greenery, his legs sprawled out on the dirt. He looked up at Claire and continued, "Please realize that we were trying to do what was best for you. You can talk to the reporters again at a controlled location, but what was about to happen was not safe."

"How dare you lecture me about safety! You cut open my head!" Claire was still standing, screaming, stamping her feet in anger.

With remarkable composure, Gabriel simply blinked at her. He knew that the whole Sylar/Gabriel speech would have to wait, but he needed to make her understand that his most recent actions were for the best. "Claire, Peter and I just wanted to get you away from the reporters before the situation got out of control."

"You expect me to believe Peter is in on your little scheme? You expect me to believe that my own uncle is conspiring with the man who- who-" she searched for the appropriate word, "_violated_ me? Are you insane! Peter would never-!"

"We are not conspiring against you, Claire!" Gabriel was now suddenly standing. In two strides, he found himself solidly within Claire's personal space. He clamped his hand down on her shoulder. "Please! You have to believe me!" Gabriel's voice held no anger, but Claire still recoiled at his touch. His hand held firm, however, and she was unable to wrench free of his grasp.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" She shouted. Her eyes blazed with hatred as she tried to squirm away from him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! You two!" Peter's voice came from a few feet behind where the couple was standing. His hands were suddenly locked on to Gabriel's upper arms. "Let her go, Gabe," he said softly, his mouth directly beside Gabriel's ear. Gabriel's fingers fell loose, and now free from his grip, Claire immediately jumped backward.

Gabriel turned his head to look at Peter, who was so close that their noses brushed together before Peter had a chance to readjust, shifting to the side a few inches. Peter peered at the taller man from behind his shoulder. They exchanged a long, meaningful look before Claire broke the silence.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what the _fuck_ is happening?" Her voice matched the horrified expression on her face.

Peter broke eye contact with Gabriel to snap, "Claire, language." He gave his niece a look of annoyance before returning his gaze to his friend. "What did you manage to do in the thirty seconds I was gone?"

Gabriel tried his best not to become defensive. "I didn't do anything. I was trying to tell her that we were only looking out for her best interests, but she wouldn't listen at all. She... she doesn't trust me." His voice sounded slightly wounded despite his best efforts to conceal his tone.

"Damn right, I don't trust you! Or did you forget what you did to me? Cutting open my head, poking around in my brain, stealing my power, and then, to top it all off, you came to my school and tried to convince me to be friends with you by impersonating my room mate, you sick freak!" Claire's words sung venomously over the empty lot.

"Claire-" Peter started, but Gabriel cut him off before he had a chance to get another word out.

"I deserve that. It's all true," Gabriel said quietly.

Claire appeared disarmed at his unexpected statement, and she stammered a bit before she was able to find her anger again. "Of course it's all true! I don't know what your game is, but I will never, ever trust you, as long as you live!"

"No game, Claire. We were just trying to get you away from the reporters. Honestly." Gabriel said.

"He's telling the truth, Claire." Peter said as he took a step toward her.

Claire took a step back. "Why are you siding with him!" Her voice cracked, and she suddenly sounded small, empty, and afraid.

Peter took another step forward. "I know you're not going to believe this," Peter took another step, "but Gabriel is a changed man. He has seen the error in his ways and he has repented. I trust him, and so should you. He only has your best interests at heart." One last step, and he was now standing so close to Claire that he had to tilt his head down to make eye contact with her.

"You're right, Peter, I don't believe you." Her tone was firm, but all of the fire had gone out of her words. "There is no way that Sylar could have literally changed overnight! He's a mass murderer! Who knows how many people he's killed? You can't just say 'sorry' for that and be done with it!"

"Because of Matt Parkman, I was trapped in Gabriel's head for what seemed to me like five years. I know everything-" he shot a pointed look back at Gabriel "-about this man. I know what his favorite movie and ice cream flavor are, I know his motivations for every action, hell, I probably know what he's thinking right at this moment. And yes, Sylar was sick, but Gabriel is an entirely different person. He's been cured."

"Why do you keep calling him Gabriel? That's Sylar!" protested Claire.

"His real name is Gabriel. He is not Sylar anymore, he has repented." Peter spoke slowly and deliberately.

"He's repented?" Claire scoffed. "Are you trying to say that Sylar, Gabriel, whatever, has found God?"

"One does not need to be religious to be moral, Claire. Besides, can an immortal person really be convinced of Heaven and Hell?" Gabriel's quiet but even voice floated toward her.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" Claire asked snidely.

"I don't know. Maybe." Gabriel shrugged. He did not intend to get into a theological debate right now.

Claire turned her attention back to Peter. "Well, what do we do now?"

"I guess we need to rendezvous with Noah and Lauren at some point in order to figure out our next move. Hiro-" Peter turned, and for the first time since Peter had arrived, Gabriel noticed Hiro and Ando's presence behind him. "-maybe you could take me back to the carnival, and..."

Claire apparently felt she had gone too long between outbursts, because she now shouted, "Don't you dare leave me alone with him!" Despite the number of males present, not a single one had a doubt of which one she was speaking.

"Okay, um..." Peter stalled for a moment, and then it was Gabriel's turn to cut in.

"Peter, maybe you could just call Noah. That is, if you get cell phone service where ever it is that we are." said Gabriel.

"We are in New Jersey. I thought it would be best to take you out of the city," Hiro chimed in.

"Good thinking, Hiro, but I think we'll have to get a little bit further away than this. But first, let me talk to Noah." Peter pulled out his phone and punched in a few numbers.

"Where is my daughter, Petrelli?" The voice on the other end of the line was so loud that everyone could clearly hear it. Peter yanked his phone away from his face a few inches before responding.

"Hey, Noah, chill out. Hiro brought us to a field somewhere in New Jersey. She's perfectly safe. Would you like to talk to her?" Claire's eyes went wide as Peter held the phone out toward her. She took it cautiously and held it up to her ear.

"Hello, Daddy," she said softly.

"Just what did you think... throwing yourself off... ferris wheel...! Everything I've worked for...! Cover it up... young lady! Everyone and their mom... every news station... never hear the end of this!" Noah's voice sounded fractured to Gabriel, but he could hear enough words to easily piece together the man's intent.

"I'm going to give you back to Peter now..." she said into the mouthpiece between Noah's shouts. Claire held the phone out to Peter between her thumb and index finger as if it were covered in bacteria. Peter snapped the phone out of her hand and put it to his face.

"Noah, Noah! Calm. Down. What's done is done. What do we do next?" Peter asked. Noah evidently took Peter's words to heart and calmed down, because his response was audible to only Peter. After a pause, Peter said, "Okay, we'll call you then." He hung up the phone and addressed Gabriel.

"I don't know if Noah knows you're here, but he's bound to put two and two together sooner or later and he is not going to be happy when he figures it out. So I am going to take Claire back, and you are going to wait for me in my apartment."

"Back?" Claire asked.

"To Washington, DC. To your father's apartment," Peter said.

"Oh no, no, no!" said Claire. "I do not want to be kept on house arrest by my father! Take me to your apartment, Peter, and leave Sylar sitting in this field. Let him take the bus back to New York, I don't care," she sneered in Gabriel's direction.

"I'm going to do what your father asked, Claire. I think it's the best decision," Peter disagreed.

"Does anyone forget that I am a grown woman? I do not have to do everything that my father tells me to do! I am my own person and I make my own decisions!" Claire's borderline tantrum did not support the words that were currently coming out of her mouth, but she continued. "You are not going to take me back there!"

"I'm sorry, Claire, I'm your uncle, and I am not going to defy your father. If you disagree with him, you can do it to his face. I won't get in the middle of this." Peter turned to face Hiro. "Gabriel doesn't know where my apartment is, so I'll take him there and you can take Claire back home. Pick up Noah on your way, and I'll be there in a few minutes. Before you go-" Peter walked over to Hiro and patted him lightly on the arm. "Thanks, just needed to grab that. Okay, I'm ready." Leaving no further time for debate, Peter linked arms with Gabriel and popped out of existence.


End file.
